


divination

by glacecherie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Magical Realism, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacecherie/pseuds/glacecherie
Summary: Sometimes, he wishes nobody knew.Not in a self-loathing way, it never has been. More the fact that when the cat's outta the bag, there's no stuffing it back in.Each time a friend comes to him with a dilemma and asks if he can see how it works out, he has to explain that he doesn't necessarily see the right future.  Sometimes, sure. Most of the time it's a flick book of possible outcomes, little fragments, or nothing at all but a feeling of foreboding. Those ones are the worst.[Or: Mitch pines and sees the future. Kinda.]





	1. Chapter 1

As gifts go, Mitch is pretty sure he drew the short straw.  
  
Some people get cool things - one of his friend's moms can tell when her family are going to get sick well in advance of them actually getting sick. An old classmate's girlfriend could commit entire books word for word to memory. His auntie can tell how people are feeling just by touching them.  
  
Him? He can see the future. Sort of.  
  
-  
  
In interviews, he always plays it down. If he has to talk about it, he keeps it brief and positive and makes sure to throw something in about how the NHL is very _Inclusive™_ of "the capable" nowadays.   
  
Privately, Mitch thinks the name is stupid and that they're only wasting their own time by asking him something that has nothing to do with his hockey. Publicly, he smiles blankly and grimaces through another question about his slump.  
  
-  
  
Sometimes, he wishes nobody knew.   
  
Not in a self-loathing way, it never has been. More the fact that when the cat's outta the bag, there's no stuffing it back in.  
  
Each time a friend comes to him with a dilemma and asks if he can see how it works out, he has to explain that he doesn't necessarily see the _right_ future.  Sometimes, sure. Most of the time it's a flick book of possible outcomes, little fragments, or nothing at all but a feeling of foreboding. Those ones are the worst, and the dread of telling the person -  
  
It _hurts_. It hurts them and him and he usually gets a migraine.   
  
What he's saying is that it sucks.  
  
-  
  
Occasionally it is funny, though. One time Willy comes to him and asks if he can see anything about him and a tall blonde girl he's been making small talk with in the hotel lobby.  
  
Auston, who had been asleep and kind of drooling grossly on his shoulder, is suddenly awake and looking amused, like he knows Willy is about to get roasted.   
  
(He's right, too. Mitch gets the sharpest vision he's had in months. It's of the girl swiping left on Willy on tinder.)  
  
-  
  
Speaking of Auston, he's becoming a problem.  
  
Well okay, maybe not a _problem_. That sounds like it's him that's at fault when this one is all on Mitch.  
  
Because -  
  
He's caught _feelings_ , and he doesn't know what to do with them, and he can't even get away from Auston without making it into a huge _thing_ and FUCK, his head hurts. Not entirely from his gift, because he suspects the customary post-win bar crawl they had had something to do with it as well. He's just much more likely to dwell on stuff when his brain is falling out of his ears, it'd seem.  
  
_Capable_ his ass. The most he's capable of right now is laying on the sofa like a corpse and sipping some peppermint tea.  
  
-  
  
It's not for want of trying, him not getting over Auston.   
  
" _Getting over_ " makes it sound like they're together. They're not. Auston just spends the night when they need to carpool or when he's bored or when Mitch's "gift" gets blindsided and it's like even thinking hurts.  
  
That last one is a real sticking point. It was weird, because the first time Auston saw it happen (after a call from his mom - there was some family illness and her worry had filtered down the phone and then his head felt split open), he'd known just what to do. Stroke his hair and lower the blinds. Turn out the lights and lay with him and talk shit until it passed.   
  
He'd distractedly brushed his thumb over the lines of Mitch's tattoo as he'd quietly told him some childhood memory and Mitch had thought _oh, god. Please, please. No._  
  
(Mitch doesn't even know if there is a God or if he believes, but he'd sent up a quick prayer that day anyway for Auston to stop being so nice. Naturally, it goes unanswered.)   
  
-  
  
He has it under control. Maybe.

He's still working on not being so tactile, because he has a feeling that half the time Auston is just humoring him. If anything, it probably comes off as needy. It's hard though. Sometimes he feels his hands twitch to touch Auston and has to remind himself.  
  
He hasn't changed their routine or anything, though. Just done some subtle tweaks and forcing himself to stop pining and be grateful for what he has.  
  
-  
  
Even with his best efforts, it doesn't stop the dreams.   
  
Cruel little dull scenarios where he's doing nothing more than dozing on Auston on the sofa because there's a blizzard outside. The fire is crackling and the TV is on low, and when he stirs Auston squeezes him minutely, kissing his forehead. " _Go back to sleep_ " he says, and Mitch always knows it's a dream at that point because the smile Auston's given him is too tender, too soft.  
  
Other times, they take a different path.   
  
Other times, he sees himself being foolish enough to spill his guts. Sees the stupid naivety on his own face clear as day as he tells certified ladykiller Auston Matthews that he - likes him.  
  
It's unfair, because he never wakes up until he's seen Auston shake his head and pull away, or tug at their stupid friendship bracelet like it makes him feel really uncomfortable now.   
  
But he's never mean about it, which almost hurts worse.  
  
One time, Auston thinks it's a prank, and Mitch wakes up shaking, bedsheets wrapped around him, suffocating.   
  
They're not that frequent. Mostly his dreams are normal boring things, but they're frequent enough that he's starting to get worn down.  
  
-  
  
Still, life goes on. They're on a good streak, and the locker room even feels jubilant. Tentative jubilation, but still. It's nice.  
  
Naturally, it doesn't last.  
  
When he's dropping Auston off, he makes to get out of the car and then doesn't, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie.  
  
"You okay?" He says, acting like his nerves aren't suddenly on edge.  
  
"Sure...I. There was just - I."  
  
"Take your time, buddy."  
  
Auston laughs, and Mitch has to shake himself to not look too transparently taken by it. _God._  
  
"I was just wondering if you could help me with something. With your gift."  
  
Oh, fucking _hell_. Mitch doesn't like where this is headed.  
  
"Depends what it is." He laughs, forced. He could be wrong. This could be perfectly innocent.  
  
Auston takes a deep breath and then nods, like he's psyching himself up.  
  
"I just - wondered about this. Fuck, look I know this sounds stupid, but you gotta promise not to laugh, okay man?"  
  
"Pinkie swear." He says, because he's an asshole and remembers Auston telling him that Breyana used to make him pinkie swear not to get hurt during his games when he was younger.  
  
"God, you're such an asshole." Auston laughs. "I just need your gift, just this once. There's - there's this - there's someone I really like. I've liked for ages. And - I -"  
  
He looks up as thought to double check that Mitch isn't laughing.   
  
"-just wanna know if I have a chance. Just so I have an idea."  
  
He looks so hopeful and so fucking - _open_ that Mitch just can't say no. How could he?   
  
Mitch nods and tacks on a smile even though his gut is churning again.  
  
"Sure, man." He eventually gets out, and Matts looks relieved.   
  
"You're the best." Auston says, and hugs him before he opens the car door.  
  
  -  
  
It doesn't even hit him what he's agreed to until he's finally, finally settled in bed.   
  
He's going to help matchmake Auston with a girl he seems pretty gone on - the soft unfocused gaze when he 'fessed up was proof enough of that - and if all goes well it'll work.  
  
If not, at least he can say he tried.   
  
That's the most important thing.

He doesn't sleep easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch dwells, and it goes about as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so this is mostly a coda to the first chapter but it also didn't fit into the second, so here we are!

If anything, now that he's agreed to help Auston, the dreams get worse.   
  
They're more fleshed out and detailed, so much so that he can almost touch them physically.  
  
They always make him wake up with his chest aching, panic consuming him for a second that he's actually been found out. He shudders.  
  
Those aren't even the _worst,_ though. The worst one is...just far too close to the bone.  
  
In it, he's laid on Auston's huge sofa, and despite there being plenty of room,  Mitch ends up with his head in his lap. Auston is slumped to one side, sprawled over the chair arm. It can't be good for his back, but Mitch is just. Too fucking content to do anything.   
  
How he sees it, this is romantic.  
  
Sure, it isn't a bed of rose petals or an expensive 6 course meal in a trendy restaurant, but...it's more them. Anyway, his hayfever would fuck up the first option.  
  
Besides, this beats is hands down. Comfortably tucked up away from the cold as dusk draws in and the ever-present snow falls softly outside. There's even candles lit (even if they are just the ones Auston's mom got him as a housewarming present that he feels compelled to use out of guilt). It's just so...soft that it makes him stupid. Makes him too secure and reckless.  
  
So in the dream he smiles, face still squished against Auston's thigh, and pauses an old rerun of Kitchen Nightmares they're half watching, half dozing to.  
  
And-   
  
Jesus, he's _cringing_ just thinking about it. Because he just goes " _we should go on a proper date sometime_ ", like that's something bros say to each other, and he has the fucking audacity to be hurt when Auston just -  
  
Snorts and goes " _yeah, good one_." He actually has the audacity to do that, and awake Mitch wants to reach in and put a hand over his mouth then strangle himself. He wants the dream to stop there and never wants to remember the end of it again.  
  
But he can't always get what he wants.  
  
In the dream, he sits up, still not understanding.  
  
"We should. It'd - I just think it'd be nice."   
  
Auston still looks clueless, so Mitch takes his limp hand and slots their fingers together. He gives a squeeze.  
  
Auston doesn't squeeze back. When he looks up, finally brave enough to make eye contact his stomach drops.  
  
He's glancing around, half puzzled and half amused, like he expects the crew of Punk'd to jump out. He laughs and shoves at Mitch's shoulder.  
  
"Where do you get this stuff from?" He says, oblivious and reaching for the remote and -  
  
Mitch can't move. Replaying it in his head is ten times worse than rewatching his shittiest game tape. He sits there like an idiot, frozen with great fat tears welling up.   
  
Awake Mitch wants to reach in there and shake him. Auston only clocks him when he turns to offer him more popcorn, and he doesn't even connect the two right away. He asks if Mitch is _alright,_ passes him a tissue, puts an arm round him.  
  
After all, Mitch has cried on him before. Secret, shameful tears about the pressure he feels that they never speak about properly.  
  
In the dream he leans into Auston for a second, and he recognises that move. The move where he tries to soak up as much affection as he can just in case it's the last time Auston humors him. Gotta take it whilst he can. It's a solid strategy, okay?  
  
"I -" He says, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I just got turned down, I guess."  
  
It takes Auston a hot minute.  
  
"By wh-" He murmurs, warm hands rubbing at Mitch's shoulder.   
  
Then; " _Oh_."  
  
The hand withdraws, and Auston subtly puts a gap between them.  
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
Auston doesn't say anything, but he's fiddling with their friendship bracelet (great fucking idea, awake Mitch, real twelve year old girl power move) and his mouth is twisted. It's making him uncomfortable, just like he's feared.  
  
"Auston, I didn't mean it okay, I was just being stupid."  
  
"Being stupid? How is asking me on a date just "being stupid?"  
  
"I didn't mean it like _that_ -"   
  
Auston is silent for a while, then his expression hardens. It's not even in a _nasty_ way, just like he's psyching himself up.  
  
"I don't want you like that, Mitch. You're not even - you were my friend, how could you think -"  
  
Both dream Mitch and real Mitch's blood runs cold reliving that bit. _Were_. Past tense.  
  
"What do - what do you mean _were_? Auston? What did you mean? Please, just tell me how I can -"  
  
Auston fixes him with a blank stare. Not hateful or angry or disgusted. Just completely blank.  
  
"You should go back home." He says.   
  
That's the point he always snaps awake. Mitch takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. The last time it was whilst Auston had stayed over and the guest bedroom was still full of boxes from the move. He'd jerked almost bolt upright and Auston had woken, uncurling himself from his quilt cocoon (he steals the bedclothes, no surprises there) and scowling.  
  
"The _fuck_?" He'd slurred, and Mitch had apologised, but hey, turns out he couldn't even do that right, because his voice had wobbled and when he tried to give Auston a friendly shove back into the pillows, his hands shook.  
  
 _No_ , he'd thought. _No no no_. This can't happen.  
  
Auston had held his arms open.  
  
"C'mere." He'd said, and Mitch hadn't been able to stop himself having a look at him. Soft and half asleep and unguarded. Offering comfort.   
  
He'd almost let himself. But then that feeling had come back, the one where he'd feel - he doesn't even know how to articulate it. Sleazy, maybe? Taking advantage when Auston definitely wouldn't offer if he knew the full situation. So he'd said _no thanks_ , and made to get up. Auston had mumbled " _kay_ " and dropped back to sleep.   
  
Bullet fucking dodged, one point to Mitch.  
  
The only problem is that all these small victories don't feel like victories at all. All the effort with none of the spoils.  
  
He hopes to fucking _god_ that playing matchmaker will nip it in the bud, or at least exhaust him enough that he can sleep without being stabbed in the back by his own Gift.   
  
Fucking "gift". He wishes he'd kept the receipt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is taking over my life and soul please help me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch tries to do the reading. Emphasis on tries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up kids, this one's gonna be rough.

  
One time, it gets too much to handle. Someone awful (aka Willy, naturally) starts making jokes about Auston and Mitch being like an old married couple. Codependent, shitty jokes, set in their little routines. Auston laughs his stupid endearing laugh, and just like that it becomes a dumb running joke.

It gets worse when they're in a restaurant post win, and pretty much half the team are nearly cracking up because they dared Auston to try and charm the waitress into giving them free drinks.

Instead of turning on the flirting - which considering how the tiny waitresses' long hair is half buzzed and the rainbow keychain sticking out of her apron pocket would be a lost cause - Auston links his and Mitch's fingers on the table.

"What would you recommend?" He asks when she comes to see if they need more drinks."It's our anniversary. Gotta treat my boy right."

Mitch freezes, tensing up until his muscles complain. He has a distinct feeling the smile he's tacked on looks deranged.

The waitress coos at them indulgently.

"How long have you been together?" She asks, and wow, Auston must really be selling this shit because she practically has her hands clasped over her heart.

"Uh-" Auston stumbles.

Mitch does some quick math in his head. If it's going from when they first met it would be closer to two years, but first game would be closer one and oh my god why is he thinking about this so much he's such a dumbass and -

"A year. Well, slightly longer.  But we didn't have chance to celebrate until now."

Auston nudges his knee against Mitch's in thanks beneath the table.

"Really, we should have gotten our act together way before then but..."

He shrugs.

Mitch's heart beats double time all of a sudden, like a rabbit.

This is a chance, right?

He leans in and kisses Auston's cheek,  and for a split second he's warm from the tips of his ears to his toes. There's nothing but the minute reflexive twitch of surprise Auston's hand makes in his own, and the warmth under his lips.

Then he just feels nauseous.

The waitress is completely sold on them, though.

"You sound even worse than me and my girlfriend." She says, sighing happily. "Tell you what, I'll get you some drinks. On the house, for the happy couple. Congratulations!"

Auston waits until she's disappeared behind the bar to pull his hand from Mitch's and hold it up for a high five.

"Hear that? On the house. You losers can pay for your own."

Willy rolls his eyes.

"She was cute." He says, peering after her, and Auston groans.

"Somehow I don't think you're her type."

"No! No no! I meant how she was like - she looked completely in love and happy and stuff, y'know? Don't you think that's nice?"

It's very obvious he's had a beer or two already.

Naturally, it's grounds for mocking him for the next three years at least.

"You're only chirping me because I'm right!" He says, dodging the balled up napkin Auston hurls at him.

When Auston turns and looks at him, still grinning, Mitch steels himself.

"Don't pull that shit again." He says carefully. He can't meet his eyes.

Auston's smile disappears.

"Mitch, wha-" He starts, little crease between his brows on his stupid handsome face, but then their drinks arrive.

Champagne, naturally. It's a special occasion. There's even a little sparkler stood in each flute. Mitch isn't sure how to drink it without like, hideously burning his face off, but whatever.

"Cheers." He says weakly, and Auston clinks their glasses without saying a word when they've burnt out.

Willy waits until he's placed their order and their waitress has hurried off again to click his tongue at them.

"Fraudulent." He tuts, acting like he hasn't used his dumb prettyboy face and put on innocence to get his own way innumerable times. Mitch says as much.

"How is that fraud?!"

As a new squabble takes off, Matt finally looks up from his phone, because he'd been doing actual adult stuff and "adding something to his groceries list whilst he remembered" like a loser. He looks between him and Auston, calculating.

Then he makes a dreaded "hmm" noise and goes back to what he was doing. The kind of "hm" noise that means "hm, I'll bring this up when you're distracted by something and unable to escape". 

Mitch sighs and kinda wishes that he could sneak off back home and do the rational thing of binging on Netflix romcoms (there's one about a charming baker who falls in love with the owner of a rival bakery that looks bomb) and maybe calling his mom.

-

He does the reading anyway, on a particularly cold and blizzard-struck January evening.

It doesn't go as planned.

-

The thing is, Mitch thinks despondently, is that he went into this whole "Matts out of character talking about his soft feelings for someone else" with his eyes wide open.

He'd been overcome by the need to see him happy, even if it did come at the cost of his own feelings. He'd been determined not to show any bitterness and just. Help.

He digs his nails into his thighs, sat in the darkness of his living room, fairy lights still on, which. What a fucking joke. Lighting a couple of candles and shit, trying to make it warm and calm because the whole process of touching someone and trying to invoke visions could be a little exhausting, maybe stressful depending on the person. He'd wanted to make it as homely as possible. Not that it particularly matters now. Not now his secret has been blown, must have now that Auston has seen what he really thinks about him.

It hurts. He'd managed to play it off when Matts was here (he hopes, he really really fucking hopes), but now it's just - smarting a little. Just a pinch.

He's cringing too, trying to imagine how earnest he must have looked, one hand pressed to Auston's bare chest under his sweater,  over his heart. The other cradling his jaw so he could lay his fingers against his temple. His eyes squeezed shut and concentrating, trying to disregard the little thrill touching him like that had given him.

Then it had happened. His fucking gift backfiring spectaularly.

Instead of focusing it on Auston, he'd let his worry and antsiness overtake everything for just a second and - that's. Not good. A second was all it took for his stupid, cursed ability to project instead of look in, with all the subtlety of the fucking bat signal.

It had been a stupid montage of them, like flicking through old photographs. Him and Auston laid together on this same sofa, Auston as the big spoon. Okay, he'd thought. I'm probably just seeing a memory (it was one time okay?)

It happened sometimes, if you weren't used to having someone rummage around in your head. Some wires got crossed.

So he'd tried again.

But it kept happening.

Domestic little scenes of them eating in the breakfast nook together, playing footsie. Auston holding him close in bed, Auston telling him he loves him so much, Auston saying goodbye at the airport, dawdling as much as possible -

He hadn't even been able to tell what was a memory, and what was him projecting, and what was a vision and holy shit, that's bad. That was so fucking bad - fuck, god -

Mitch dropped his hands in horror, humiliation burning through him. He'd thought he'd been so careful about it, so fucking sneaky. He'd really thought he'd hidden it welll.

Dread had pooled in his stomach, and it's not fair, because Auston had blinked his eyes open and looked so...soft. Smiling slightly. Like he had in the vision before he hauled Mitch closer and -

It's just residual emotion from rifling through his head, he knows it, but for a second he could almost believe, just maybe, maybe Auston saw that and realised that he feels -

Mitch made a wounded noise, and shook his head to himself.

He'd realised then that that's where it had to stop. All the daydreams. All the reading into Auston just being nice. All the -

All the stupid tactile behaviour he's so known for. Yeah, Auston sit all cuddled up on the plane with me now you know I'm pining and that I'm just taking what I can get whilst I can and -

Yeah, no. He'd be realistic about this.

He'd drawn a shaking breath.

Auston shifted closer, sensing Mitch's alarm, and Mitch flinched away.

This was all going to blow up in his face. He just hadn't known how yet. Worse case scenario was -

Auston cutting him off there and then. He wouldn't let anything affect the team - naturally - but the status quo? The socialising, the affection, the car pooling and 1am insomnia heart to hearts? All that goes away.

He wouldn't be mean about it, he wouldn't be anything about it. Just...cordial.

Somehow what actually happens it worse.

Auston had opened his mouth to say something but Mitch beat him to it.

"It's okay." He'd said, voice cafeully neutral and even. "You don't have to - I get it."

"Mitch, what?"

"I get it. That you - that that was bad. I'm sorry."

He'd made a mess of explaining, but he hoped the gist was there. Somehow.

Auston'd looked at him strangely. Of course he had. Mitch just had his hands on him and was in his head and all he'd probably wanted was to leave as soon as it was over and the longer he sensed Matts' discomfort the more his eyes burnt.

"Mitch, I don't - you're gonna have to explain, okay? I'm no expert in this."

Fuck. Fuck him, fuck that. He'd done his quiet, coaxing voice. He'd took his hand. Mitch'd shuddered and forced himself to stay still. How the fuck had he not got it yet.

He'd taken a deep breath.

"I just mean that I'm - I'm gonna stop, okay? I'm just sorry. I'm sorry. I never wanted to fuck things up or to make you feel awkward and. I didn't mean to project and see things for what they weren't. I'm sorry. I just don't want to lose you as a friend, but I understand if- if-"

Goddamn it, he'd even teared up. He hung on tight to Auston's hand before he realised and slowly pulled it away.

"Mitchy, I think you've got the wrong end of the stick."

"Don't do this, don't. I'll try again, okay? I'll do it better, and focus more, and see if you've got a chance with them. Just - maybe tomorrow? I think I'm exhausted today."

Auston looked at him, confused.

"Who's "they?"

And the annoyance and hurt Mitch was wrestling with? It had suddenly exploded.

"Whoever you want to see if you have a chance with! Fucking hell! It's bad enough that you come to me and just think oh sure, Mitch can fix my fucking love life when there's no point anyway! You don't want love, okay. You're just infatuated, as usual!"

He hadn't meant a word of it. Not a single one.

But Auston looked like he'd been slapped.

"Right."

"Auston, I -"

"No, what the fuck? What the fuck are you talking about with infatuation? You think that's what I've swallowed my pride and come to you for? You think I'd do that if I wasn't serious?"

No no no, fuck. Everything had gone wrong and there was no way for Mitch to fix it without exposing his feelings even more, and that would have just made things worse and god, fuck he hadn't been able to breathe.

"I didn't - I didn't -" Hed tried to say, but it had come out so pathetic that it was barely audible.

Auston had just looked at him.

"You know what, screw this."

Then he'd got up and left. Mitch had been too frozen up and panicked to stop him.

Back in the present, Mitch blows out the candles and unplugs the stupid lights.

He's such a fucking idiot, and if there's some fraction of their friendship to be saved, Mitch hasn't a clue how to do it.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't murder me and leave me in a ditch. Comments preferable, but mostly I'm worried about being killed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh my god I'm so late updating this. Between losing all the docs on my old phone and arranging moving countries it's kind of been written in dribs and drabs over the past month. The good news is that I've already started planning the next chapter. The bad news is this chapter. Sorry in advance!

Mitch tells himself it's all fine. He just needs to like, apologise to Auston, tell him to go for it with whomever it is he's set his sights on, and stop being so pathetic. That or just apologise and never talk about any of this again ever. He's fairly sure that counts as a mature response. Sort of.

Which -

It should be easy enough, he supposes. It's a to do list with two steps. That's nothing, it's a breeze, it's a - fucking mess of a situation, actually, and he's seriously considering laying down in the yard to die and get eaten by the neighbourhood cats.

It doesn't help that his brain - his own damn traitorous fuckhead brain - is out to get him, churning out hundreds of other ways in which the fucking reading could have gone.

Mitch lays in the dark and pitches from seething to getting a lump in his throat.

What if he'd bit the bullet and made a move?

Just the thought turns his stomach to lead.

He feels so fucking dumb about how he torments himself.

He doesn't want anything dramatic. He's not suggesting The Notebook (an overrated romcom in his opinion, but he keeps quiet about that for his own safety). He just wants someone to be with who gets him and doesn't mind his hectic schedule and fully supports off days being spent in various states of laziness.

Is it so bad that the thing he wants most are all the quiet little moments of a relationship?

He imagines a thousand fucking variants of that. Of shitty movie marathons and having someone to wait out the bad moods when a game goes horribly. Even being injured would be more bearable. Probably. Maybe.

Okay, probably not that last one, but nevertheless.

Sometimes when Auston stays over it's _almost_ like getting a taste of what it'd be like. He'd passed out in Mitch's bed the last time and he hadn't even realised until he'd woken up in the early hours for a drink, and it was just - borderline painful, to come back from kitchen and see him like that, face lax, curled towards the centre of the bed, having spread out whilst Mitch had been gone and -

Yeah. That's what he wants. To be dicked down into next week as well, sure, but this is the kind of thing that crawls under his ribcage and makes a home there. Outside it wasn't even dawn, street lamps casting surreal pools of light. It'd felt so quiet and soft. Peaceful.

When he'd sneaked back into bed, Auston had rolled over some more and flopped an arm over his waist, and Mitch had felt his heart crack a little.

-

A couple of days later when hes doing his usual pre-game routine, Mitch's gift - for want of a better word - blanks, and all hell breaks loose.

-

 _I'm not freaking out I'm not freaking out I'm not freaking out_ goes over and over in his head like a klaxon, and every breath he takes feels like he's doing so via a crushed windpipe.

He's _maybe_ freaking out. He wants to throw up, so he bolts for the toilet and only just makes it before he's gagging.

It's so fucking _alien_ and _unnatural_ a feeling, suddenly not getting anything at all from his teammates, not even a vague sense of what mood they're in. He's not a full empath by any means, but there's overlap between foresight and being am empath and _jesus_ yep, there goes his lunch.

He's maybe crying. Just a little.

-

  
Auston finds him like that, when the game is almost starting and nobody had been able to find his miserable, shivering ass.

He drops to his knees and prys Mitch's fingers away from the toilet lid.

"Mitch? Mitch, what's wrong?" he says. He sounds panicked and it takes a good few seconds for him to process what's been said.

He whines and slumps into Auston's chest. He's warm and Mitch is clammy and cold.

"My head, it - it stopped, and - don't. I don't feel good." He tries to explain, but the way his skull feels like it's tugging apart makes speech hard.

Mitch notes how fearful he looks and can't stand it because this is another black mark against him in terms of making Auston feel uncomfortable.

He sobs.

"I'm sorry, I - it hurts" is all he manages before he's retching again.

Auston pulls away and props him up.

"I'm gonna get someone okay?' he says, and Mitch doesn't want him to go but logically he knows that it's the right idea.

He nods, even that small movement making his stomach roll, and squeezes his eyes shut.

-

Dr Taylor is very nice, Mitch decides quickly. Firstly, she has a lot of teas in her office and offers him the one that helps with nausea. There's some photos up and a nice poster of the snowy wilderness, like she's tried to make her office more homely.

It's better than the standard white walls and antiseptic smell, he guesses. Small victories.

Secondly because she opens with "I won't bullshit you".

The bad news is that she follows that with "I don't know why this happened."

Mitch kind of gets a teary then, and he's too exhausted to actually hold it in, crying properly instead of just watery eyes from retching.

He's suddenly very thankful that Auston insisted on finding him post-game and going in with him, seen as for the past few hours he'd been too exhausted to string words together, let alone talk to someone.

"You don't have to do this." he'd said, and Auston looked at him like he'd grown a second head, and helped him get up. The hand he'd pressed between Mitch's shoulder blades when he'd dry heaved a little from suddenly being upright had felt so good after such a long (read: 10 days) period of not touching that his knees felt weak.

"Are there reasons why it could have happened? Even if we can't pin down the exact cause?" Auston asked, and Dr Taylor discretely handed Mitch a tissue.

He isn't sure when he grabbed Auston's hand, because his brain feels like the bottom of a pond with how a thought the slightest bit too taxing it stirs up the silt until it's too cloudy to think.

The doctor nods kindly, but not the sort of kindly where she has a solution.

"Of course. Stress would be the main culprit, but your jobs are by nature stressful, so we would expect something on top of that to bring about a retention like this. Head injuries are another major factor, but from your records it indicates there have been no recent incidents."

Mitch takes a minute to process that, which is akin to wading through treacle and a bag skate combined.

"Sorry, retention?" He asks. Auston squeezes his fingers.

"Ah, yes. Whilst you say you feel like the gift has 'gone', I can reassure you it hasn't. It's still there. However, Mr Marner, it is...congested. It could be for one reason or many. For now I suggest trying to maintain as calm an environment as possible in your aparment, and perhaps spending time with friends and loved ones in it. A sense of having a safe home can work wonders."

Mitch feels his lip wobble.

"So that's _it_?" He whines. He knows it sounds ungrateful, he fucking knows, but he's just stuck here and he's hurting. He can't help but wallow.  
  
Dr Taylor pauses, gazing at him mildly over her glasses.

"Unless there's any other incidents you can tell me about? Anything that sticks out to you as over exerting your - ah, gift."

Mitch shakes his head quickly, and so does Auston.

He groans internally. He feels briefly like they're schoolkids again, hauled before the principal for some minor misgiving.

Only this probably counts as much worse than "minor".

"No, nothing." He says finally, quietly. Even that makes his head throb dully.

-

In the end she gives him migraine medications that he doesn't even bother reading the instructions fully of before he gulps one down, and takes up Auston's offer of a lift home.

It's cripplingly awkward even with the small talk and the radio on. Mitch can't even aleviate the awkwardness because he's fairly sure his brain is falling out, that he's going to crawl into bed and sleep for a hundred years when he gets home, and -

He gets a _flash_ of something, bright enough he squints instinctively. For a split second he almost yelps, thinking it's a vision until - oh.

Yeah, that's just a fucking. Action replay of one of the ones he projected at Auston. He's turned into a cosmic fucking echo chamber. Great.

(It had been the memory of being laid against Auston, half spooning after they'd fallen asleep watching _The Grinch_ of all things, because it was christmas and what the fuck, why not. Auston had woken up enough to lean over and switch the TV off, then he'd - curled up against Mitch's back again and gone back to dozing. Mitch had felt some little hopeful ember of something ignite in him at the time.)

He knows better now.

-

Auston sees him in, because the vertigo is not fun, and there's a lot of stairs required to get him to his room.

It's slightly humiliating when Mitch has to change into his pyjamas and nearly falls over at least three times, but somehow that makes it all less awkward. You almost trip with your ass half out and it provides at least some comic relief.

"You good?" Auston says, leaving him to wriggle under the covers and not help because god forbid he not be constantly on the look out to roast him.

Mitch grimaces.

"As good as I can be, I guess. Thanks, for - uh. Helping me out."

Auston shrugs.

"Someone had to."

Mitch can't tell if he's really put upon or not because he can't see his face, but whatever. His eyelids feel super heavy. He really doesn't want to nod off on Auston because it'd be rude, but st the same time, he's exhausted, bone deep.

He thinks of all the times they've accidentally napped together or curled up on the sofa or vegetated with company in just this kind of situation, winter still biting outside and the light made soft by dusk, and them sheltered from it all and spending a questionable amount of time watching guilty pleasure reality TV.

Very suddenly he doesn't want to be alone.

"Can you- I. Could you stay? Just until I'm asleep, I just. My mom isn't coming until the weekend and I'm -"

Mitch snaps his mouth shut audibly, because he's getting upset and feels embarrassed as fuck. He swipes at his eyes with his sleeve.

Auston looks at him, and if he was a fool he'd say it was tender.

"Okay." is all he replies, unshouldering his bag, and when he climbs in and arranges himself against the headboard Mitch is weak. He doesn't snuggle up to him, but it's a near thing.

He opens his mouth to try and lighten the mood, and Auston beats him to it.

"Sleep, Mitch." He murmurs, ruffling Mitch's hair, and he falls asleep so fast he can't tell if the hand stays in his hair or not.

He doesn't dream, and he's thankful for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I'm always a slut for pining, angst, and Mitch's dumb face. 
> 
> ...
> 
> Please don't hunt me down for sport.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If not talking about it and pretending the whole oops-I-read-your-mind thing didn't happen, then Mitch is coping absolutely perfectly fine.

Mitch doesn't wake up until the following day. He regrets not drawing the blinds because the sun is shining directly in his eyes and it feels slightly like he's being stabbed in the head.

He rolls over and buries his face into the other pillow, only feeling slightly hurt when he clocks that it smells of Auston's aftershave and the dumb expensive hair stuff he uses. Great. Fantastic start.

Yesterday comes back to him in a rush, and he groans, pulling the quilt over his head. Maybe he can just like. Stay here and become one with the bed and not have to face Auston ever again out of crippling embarrassment. It isn't likely considering he can hear Auston downstairs and he really does need coffee but nevertheless, it's a nice idea.

Eventually (read: ten minutes later) he gets antsy and grabs a hoodie off the floor because sure, Auston has seen him naked roughly a million times, but that's in the locker room. It's different. It's definitely _not_ because he overthinks things and doesn't know whether turning up nearly naked in his own kitchen would make Auston uncomfortable. Or something.

Whatever. He's got this.

-

It turns out he needn't have worried, because Auston is stood prodding at a pan of eggs in frankly criminally tight boxer briefs and nothing else, like that isn't making Mitch's _brain stop working._

The worst thing is that it isn't even lust that leaves him dumbstruck, but pining, because it looks so domestic a scene. Just a bit of imagining and he could pretend that he gets this daily, that Auston is gonna pull him close as the eggs go from _vaguely edible_ to _barely tolerable_ , and kiss him good morning. Maybe he'd hold him with a hand on the small of his back and stroke at his skin just because he can and -

 _Yeah_ , time to stop that train of thought.

"Morning." He croaks, and he cant tell if it's because his throat is still sore from yesterday or because he's dumb and in love.

Auston jumps.

"Way to scare me." He says drily, but he flicks the coffee maker on. "Morning to you too. How you feeling?"

Mitch makes an agonised sort of sound.

"That good, huh?"

"Please don't chirp me or I will die."

"You'll die?"

"Yes. _Physically_."

"At least have breakfast first."

Mitch squints at the pan and quietly removes it from the heat.

"It looks..." He begins, and Auston side eyes him as he gets plates out. "It looks edible!"

"Fuck, high praise."

"Hey-"

"Just for that all the coffee is mine."

"Fairly sure that's against the Geneva convention."

"How is me denying you coffee a _war crime_?"

"It's - look- you have to be nice to me." Mitch whines, and Auston is grinning at him, and -

It almost feels _okay_. Like all he needed to do all along to make them go back to normal was have a metaphysical brain dysfunction. Simple.

(He does eventually gets his coffee, in his favourite blue mug as well. Auston remembering it's his favourite shouldn't smart as much as it does, but. You win some you lose some.)

-

They eat off if their laps with some morning news show on in the background, and surprisingly the eggs aren't half bad.

Mitch takes a deep breath between mouthfuls.

"I'm sorry. About what happened." He winces.

Auston rolls his eyes.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, not about yesterday."

The implication that there is something to be sorry about makes him stiffen up slightly, but Auston doesn't seem to notice.

"Still. It can't have been nice for you."

Auston shrugs as he leans to grab the remote and Mitch valiantly doesn't watch how it makes the muscles in his back shift. He needs to put some damn clothes on.

"I've had worse. One time my cousin was really ill during summer break, and I thought I could handle looking after her even though I was a kid myself."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. My aunt needed groceries but she didn't want to take her out, so I stepped in."

"How'd that go?"

"I was holding her and pacing because she never fell asleep being held still. She threw up down my back."

Mitch wrinkles his nose.

"Gross."

"Right?" Auston laughs. "Kinda impressive too though. She managed to do it so it went down the back of my tshirt instead of over it."

"I'm still eating!"

"You asked!"

He elbows him in the side.

"Motherfucker."

"Hey, I left out plenty of details, like how -"

Mitch decides enough is enough and hits him with a throw pillow.

-

Mitch returns to practice a week later, itching to get back on the ice, even if his gift is still absent.

It's weird as hell to not feel anything, but bearable, and his migraines have mostly stopped.

Auston chirps him half to death at every opportunity, Matt and Willy still give him _Knowing_ looks, and he still loathes bag skates with every fibre of his being.

It's normal, but an eerie sort if normal, where it feels like he's constantly on thin ice (hah.)

"Head still fucked?" Matt says when they have a moment, like he knows Mitch is tired of people doing _The Voice_. Like he knows that addressing the elephant in the room with that softly spoken, barely concealed pity tone would make Mitch want to tear his hair out.

He's right.

Mitch shrugs.

"It's been better."

"Still not back, then?"

"Nope. Headache, nausea, and vertigo spells all present and correct. Not whatever passes for a gift, though."

Matt looks concerned, and Mitch's spirits lift a little from how protective he is.

"Should you be skating?"

"I got the all clear. The symptoms only happen when I try and force it to happen, to be honest."

Matt makes a face.

"And things with Auston?"

Mitch freezes. He didn't really expect the first time they addressed this to be when they're trying to catch their breath and Auston is perilously likely to come up to them at any given moment. Damn Matt being sneaky.

"It is what it is." He mutters, going for cryptic, and Matt laughs at him, because he's cruel.

"You know I've got your back, right? On the ice, off the ice. Maybe not when you're laid on my sofa still hungover at 4pm. But other than that."

Mitch _almost_ tears up, because he'd hoped, and he'd figured yeah, he would probably be in his corner, because he always has been, but actually hearing it - it's a lot.

"Yeah." He says, voice wobbling. "Yeah, thanks man."

Matt claps him between the shoulders, holding on.

"-and you know, I've been reliably told I am fantastic at the shovel talk."

Mitch laughs.

"Not so great at modesty though?"

"Shut up, Mitch." He replies, fond, and that's that. They rejoin practice, and he feels - not like everything is fine, but like he'll have someone who understands when things inevitably blow up in his face.

-

Things don't blow up in his face. That's the worst thing. They don't blow up in his face, so he's constantly on edge waiting for it. It's been three weeks and nothing happens.

It's so anticlimatic that he grows to hate it.

He tries explaining when he's making dinner and Auston is picking recalcitrantly at a salad.

Auston looks at him like he's grown a second head.

"You're pissed because things are normal?"

"No! They're not normal! None of this is!" He pinches the bridge of his nose, aware that he's being snappy. It's just hard. "I still don't have my stupid fucking gift back - which by the way, I've grown to hate - and I still nearly puke my guts up if I try and make it happen. How is that normal?"

He slams his hand on the counter with his irritated gesturing and instantly regrets it.

"Ow." He finishes, lamely.

Auston doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches across the counter top and fakes inspecting his hand for damage. Mitch absolutely does not shiver.

"Hm." He says. "At least you don't have to add fucked hand to all that?"

"Asshole." Mitch says, but he can feel himself smiling, just a little, when Auston laughs.

He leans over and whacks him upside the head, instantly regretting in when he realises he did it with his _thankfully not fucked_ hand.

"Ha!" Auston crows when Mitch pouts. "Poor baby. Do you need me to kiss it better?"

Mitch really wants to swat at him again, because he knows he's going pink.

"Shut up and eat your leaves or fuck off."

"You eat your leaves!" He throws back, even though it makes no sense, and they both dissolve into giggling.

It's that that sets the mood for the entire night. If Mitch looks at him, his eyes squeezed shut with laughter, the few freckles he has, the shape of his mouth, and thinks _oh_ , heart twisting. _Oh, that's definitely still there_ , well. It doesn't matter. Not really.

-

Later, when they're truly failing at call of duty (Auston's improved, but that doesn't mean he's good) and Mitch is nearly falling asleep, Auston leans close to him, head nudging his shoulder.

"Hey. We're good, right?"

Mitch blinks stupidly at him, eyes burning with exhaustion. He's not sure what he means, but he's too tired for a deep conversation. Auston is looking at him too softly and his heart aches.

"Yes? Yeah, why-" He yawns, jaw cracking "why wouldn't we be?"

Auston studies him for a moment, then he - _oh_. Brushes his hair back, lips turning up just a touch. Mitch feels completely struck still by his gaze, and the moment stretches quietly, then snaps.

"'Kay." Auston murmurs, visibly gathering himself. "We should go to bed."

Mitch definitely doesn't get hung up on " _we_ ".

"You staying?"

"Is that okay?"

"Sure. You know the drill by now. My room or the sofa."

Auston snorts.

"How have you not made up the guest room yet?'

Mitch probably really should sort that. He'll do it before his mom visits, albeit grudgingly.

"Fitted sheets are hard?"

"Why, do you get lost in there trying to put them on?" Auston snickers, and easily dodges out of the way when Mitch swats at his shoulder.

"I'm ill, and this is how you treat me? Absolutely terrible."

"Uhuh. Sure."

Mitch rolls his eyes, but he feels almost giddy at how they feel nearly - better? Sort of? Besides, they're okay. They both agreed they were okay, and for the first time in a long time, he believes it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I haven't updated this in an age. Writer's block and real life stuff suck, my dudes!! I still hate these men. Awful no good handsome boys. Yuck.

**Author's Note:**

> hoooooooo boy......ya'll mind if i just cram all my favourite tropes in one fic and leave?? 
> 
> sidenote: i hate these boys. awful. just horrid.
> 
> EDIT: I am actually going to continue this! Im just a dumbass who forgot to check the box for "multiple chapters"!


End file.
